Ivy
As I stood at the head of the grand staircase, I felt my breath catch in my throat. The chandelier above me gleamed like a cascade of gold and diamond stones, scattering light across the marble floor below, where Port North's finest walked about beneath banners of ivory and gold. Every corner of the ballroom glittered. The most expensive crystal champagne flutes sparkled on silver trays, the string quartet in the corner played a waltz that reminded me of fairytales with princesses and noble knights, and the air itself hummed with perfume and anticipation.
All of this, every flower, every ribbon, every crystal had all been arranged for me.
It was the party of the year, and everyone who mattered had come. Politicians and heiresses, shipping magnates and debutantes, all gathered under our roof, their laughter like music resonating in time with the orchestra. They were waiting. For me.
I felt a gentle pressure at my back. My father's hand. I looked up into his face and saw tears swimming in his eyes, that faint tremor of emotion he tried so hard to hide.
"Your mother would have been so proud of the woman you have become," he said softly.
My heart squeezed. I wanted to cry too, but then I remembered the hours spent on my makeup, the ache of being stuck in one position. So I scrunched up my nose and forced a pout instead.
"Daddy, you're going to make me cry," I said, trying to keep my voice light.
He chuckled, the sound weary but warm. "Go on, Ivy. It's your night, enjoy every moment my princess."
Together, we began descending the staircase. I could feel hundreds of eyes turning toward me. Wide, expectant, awestruck. A hush fell over the crowd like the calm before a storm. I smiled, that carefully practiced smile that hinted at mystery but not arrogance. Tonight, I was a princess.
Among the faces below, three stood out instantly, drawing me like a moth to a flame. Alaric. Rhys. Castiel.
Even in this sea of glam and glitz, they were effortlessly distinct, the kind of men people turned to look at twice. My three men, the holy trinity of my childhood.
Alaric, tall and broad-shouldered, looked devastating in his tailored midnight suit. He had that controlled, calculating presence that could fill a room without needing to speak, every inch the future captain of industry his father groomed him to be. His eyes found me instantly, unreadable as always, but I could tell he approved.
Rhys stood beside him, all charm and chaos. His auburn hair caught the light, and that easy, lopsided grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as he raised a glass to me. Rhys had never met a room he couldn't conquer. Most people saw only the playboy, the dazzling flirt with an overabundance of confidence but I knew better. Beneath the reckless laughter and often crude jokes was a boy who wrote poetry he'd never let anyone read, a boy who held me when my mother died.
And then there was Castiel. Dark, silent, intense Castiel. His platinum hair slightly tousled, his eyes shadowed. He stood a little apart from the other two, sharp edges wrapped in tailored linen. People liked to whisper that he was cold, dangerous even, but that was nonsense. He was my safe place, my secret solace. He adored me quietly, obsessively, as if I were the point on which his world spun.
And I adored them all.
Since childhood, people had teased us, said it was inevitable that I would marry one of them. "Which one will it be, Ivy?" they'd laugh. Even then, I'd blush and stammer because how could I possibly choose?
Years later still felt impossible. They were each perfect in their own way, and though I loved them all differently, I loved them all completely. In my most scandalous and secret dreams, I wished I could have all three. That the world would bend just a little for someone like me. But the world never bent for anyone. Least of all a girl whose life was already mapped out before she could spell her name.
I sighed inwardly. Thankfully, I wouldn't have to choose. Father would decide. He always did. Tonight, during the final toast, he'd announce my fiancé. My fate. My future. And maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't have to think about it anymore.
The orchestra swelled as we reached the last few stairs. My dress a custom mermaid gown of white satin embroidered with tiny pearls shimmered with every step. The fabric hugged my figure and trailed in a soft whisper behind me. I could feel Father's steady grip keeping me upright, regal.
As I reached the bottom, warmth swallowed me. People pressed forward with smiles and greetings, champagne flutes were thrust toward me, kisses grazed my cheeks. My head spun a little.
Then, from the corner of my eye, a flash of white caught my attention.
I frowned.
Maliya.
She was making her way toward me, smiling sweetly, wearing a white dress. White. My color. I could feel irritation boil up like champagne fizz.
When I'd sent out the invitations, I'd been very clear: only the celebrant wears white. Everyone else was to wear something else. Pastels, blushes, golds. I'd even gone out of my way to buy Maliya a peach Chanel dress i knew she loved. So why on earth would she spite me like this?
"Maliya," I said tightly when she reached me. "What are you wearing?"
"What's wrong with what she's wearing?" Rhys interjected, his voice sliding into the conversation from behind me, smooth as honey.
I turned, startled. "I stated explicitly that only I would be wearing white," I said, trying to keep my tone even, though heat rose in my chest.
"It's just a dress, Ivy," Alaric said coolly. "You shouldn't get so worked up."
I blinked, confusion replacing annoyance. That wasn't like them. They always defended me, always took my side, especially in front of others. But now, all three were watching me differently. Alaric's expression unreadable. Rhys's grin a touch forced. Even Castiel looked away when my gaze found his.
What was going on?
I opened my mouth to demand an explanation when a scream pierced the air, sharp enough to freeze every conversation mid-sentence. The music faltered. The lights seemed to flicker.
I spun toward the sound, and in that heart-stopping second, I saw him. My father, his face pale, his hand clutching his chest as he crumpled to the floor.
The world tilted on its axis. The orchestra's instruments fell silent.
My father.
Falling.
The man who had always stood so tall.
And then, there was only chaos.